The Second Hundred
by alynwa
Summary: Stories based on the second list of 100 prompts posted on LJ. The chapter name will also name the story's prompt.
1. Little Red Corvette - Car

"I'll drive."

"Really? And why would that be, Napoleon?"

"I feel like driving."

"I see. And would this 'feeling' have anything to do with the fact that we are on an assignment that demands we drive a flashy red Corvette Stingray up and down Collins Avenue in Miami Beach past scores of bikini – clad women?"

"I _do _look good behind the wheel."

"As do I. We are supposed to be attracting the attention of the local drug cartel, not attempting to pick up women."

"We're supposed to be rich playboys; picking up women is part of our cover."

"Of course."


	2. Escape: It's What's for Breakfast

"You know what I'm missing right about now, Partner Mine?"

Illya was hanging by his wrists from a pipe behind Napoleon who was also similarly bound. He had been trying to figure a way out of their predicament when the brunet's voice came over his shoulder. He turned his head as far as he could to see that they were back to back. "I must admit, I do not know what you are missing. _I _am missing the feeling of blood circulating in my arms."

Chuckling softly, Napoleon opined, "You do get a little churlish sometimes. It probably isn't helping that we've been here since about two AM and by the way my stomach feels, you're missing breakfast as much as I am."

"I was not thinking about breakfast, but thank you for mentioning it," the Russian growled, "I think I see a way to disentangle ourselves. Make yourself useful and yell. Let's see if anyone responds."

"Fine." The two men began to holler and scream for help as loudly as they could. After about twenty seconds, they stopped to see if anyone, foe or friend, would come. "I don't hear anything," Napoleon whispered.

"Good," Illya replied, "On my mark, start yelling again so I can kick apart where these two pipes are joined together. If I am successful, we can make our escape." He swung his legs up to the pipe from which they hung. "Ready? One, two, _three!_"

Napoleon began to shout once more while the Russian began to kick viciously at the pipe joint. He felt a jolt of energy when on the third kick, the pipes began to separate. "Keep it up, Napoleon! I am almost there!" Five kicks later, the pipes gave way causing both men to slide down to the floor with the heavier American landing roughly on his partner.

"Get off me, you big ox!" Illya snarled as he quickly regained his feet and brought his bound hands to his mouth as fast as his aching shoulders would allow. Napoleon mirrored his actions and the two grabbed at the ropes with their teeth and began yanking the knots apart, a relatively easy task now that there was no longer any strain on the ropes or their bodies.

They ran quietly to the door and used Illya's lock pick to open it. Seeing no one in the hallway beyond, they hustled down to a door marked "Exit." It opened onto another hallway at the end of which was a windowed door that appeared to open onto the street. Moving stealthily, they got to the door and Napoleon peeked outside.

"It's an alleyway; we can go left or right. What do you think?" the CEA asked.

Illya shrugged. "We have a fifty – fifty chance. I say I go left, you go right and we see whose way looks better unless you have a better idea."

"I don't. Let's do it." The larger man snatched the door open and Illya darted out under his arm and hugging the wall, ran to the end of the building. He noted several things: He was still in Manhattan, it was early morning and he was facing the rear of the building they had escaped. He turned around to call Napoleon and saw him running his way.

"Three guys just got out of a car and entered the building. They're going to be looking for us in about two minutes. Let's get away from here!"

They began to run in the general direction of headquarters. As they neared the corner of Forty – second Street and Ninth Avenue, Napoleon spotted two cops sitting in their patrol car. Walking up to the passenger side, he flashed his UNCLE ID and said, "Gentlemen, we are in need of your assistance. May we get in?"

The officer unlocked the back door and Napoleon slid in quickly followed by his partner. "Good morning. I'm Napoleon Solo and this is my partner, Illya Kuryakin. Would you be so kind as to take us over to the East Side?"

The cop behind the wheel protested, "Whadda we? We look like a cab to you?"

"Murphy," the officer in the passenger seat said, "Just do it! These are UNCLE agents! Seeing one is about as rare as hen's teeth and we got _two _in the car? Wait'll the guys back at the precinct hear about _this!"_

They asked to be let out at Forty – second and York and as they walked the few blocks downtown to HQ, Napoleon mused aloud, "Scrambled eggs, French toast with a side of really crisp, well done bacon, orange juice and coffee. Or maybe, a cheddar cheese omelet with hash browns…"

"What are you _doing?_"

"I'm trying to decide what to have for breakfast. I told you before I was hungry. As soon as we get to Headquarters, I'm getting breakfast."

"For the both of us, _moy droog. _That is the least you can do for tormenting me with your talk of food."

"You should be buying _me _breakfast! Didn't I enlist the aid of New York's Finest to help us escape our captors?"

"We would not have _had _captors if not for you!"

"Point taken. All right. My treat."


	3. Partnership - Partner

It was a weekend conference for international and national law enforcement agencies held in Washington, DC. Representatives of Interpol, Scotland Yard, the FBI, the CIA, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and West Germany's Federal Investigation Bureau were in attendance. UNCLE, in the form of Mr. Waverly, had been invited to speak about the growing threat THRUSH represented to their respective governments and under what circumstances it was appropriate to contact the UNCLE for assistance.

Napoleon Solo had accompanied Mr. Waverly to the conference so he could experience one of the duties a Number One, Section One was called upon occasionally to perform. When the Old Man had first told him about the conference and what he expected him to do, Napoleon had joked that he was obviously the "dutiful spouse."

He smiled to himself as he poured a cup of coffee. It was the last day of the conference and all the formal meetings were over; people had attended a luncheon after which they would begin heading home. _He told me he wanted me to accompany him to all his meetings, schmooze with all the other agency heads and answer questions about UNCLE that someone might have. _I _thought it was funny. I don't even have to act as a bodyguard, his detail is with us._

"Mr. Solo! Hi, join us!"

Napoleon looked around to see Harry Thirdgill, an FBI agent, seated at a table with three other men. He approached them and sat in the last unoccupied chair. "Gentlemen, good afternoon. I trust you found the conference informative?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied, "These bums here are my coworkers Phil Cox, John Stevens and Aaron Jakes."

Napoleon shook the agents' hands. "Nice to meet you. Please, call me Napoleon."

Aaron spoke up, "I have a question about something your boss said yesterday. He mentioned that UNCLE has started to permanently partner agents and so far, has found it to be successful. I want to know if you have a partner and if yes, do you consider it a successful pairing?"

The CEA blew on his steaming hot drink and then took a few careful sips as he thought about how best to answer. "I had been a successful UNCLE agent for two years when Mr. Waverly called me into his office one day to tell me that Section One had decided to start pairing agents up to decrease the number of death in the field and hopefully, increase the overall mission success rate. I remember part of what he said verbatim. 'Mr. Solo, as Chief Enforcement Agent of UNCLE North America, you must lead by example. Not only will you be assigned a partner, your partner will be UNCLE's first Russian agent, Mr. Illya Kuryakin, on loan from the KGB."

Harry whistled. "Whoa, a Russkie? And, _KGB _to boot? That sucks. I would have argued."

"No, you wouldn't have; one doesn't argue with Alexander Waverly. That being said, I ah _will _say that I did mention that my success rate was quite good and teaming me with someone really wasn't going to improve it much. Let's just say, he wasn't impressed with my reasoning on the subject."

Stevens leaned forward and asked, "So, what did he look like? I'm guessing a heavyset tall guy with black hair, heavy moustache, no sense of humor?"

Napoleon laughed aloud. "Not even close! His secretary announced on his intercom that Mr. Kuryakin had arrived and she was told to let him enter. I looked up and this skinny, short, blond longhaired guy walks in wearing an off the rack suit that looks like he borrowed it from his older brother. I couldn't believe he was my partner. That was five years ago."

Aaron finally joined in the conversation. "So, has it been a good partnership?"

"Honestly, in the beginning, I wasn't sure we would work out. But, I liked the guy. Three months after we were teamed, he came down with the flu and I brought him chicken soup.* He had been a little standoffish before that, but I guess once someone gives you a sponge bath and makes you chicken soup, it breaks down walls. He's my partner; I can't even imagine going into the field without him, now. Maybe you guys should suggest it to J. Edgar; he might go for it."

Stevens checked his watch. "Speaking of J. Edgar, we better get going. He's expecting us back before five. Nice meeting you, Napoleon. See you around." The FBI agents all stood and left the room.

Napoleon pulled out his communicator and said, "Open Channel K. Illya?"

"Hello, Napoleon. Are you bored? I did not expect to hear from you until you returned tonight."

"No, I'm not bored. I was thinking of you and I wanted to tell you: You are a good partner. You always have been."

"You do not have to flatter me, Napoleon. I have done all your paperwork you left."

"Thanks, but I'm serious. Let me treat you to Svetlana's for dinner tomorrow night."

There was nothing but silence for a few seconds before the Russian responded, "I do not know what has gotten into you, but I will not refuse a free meal. I will be home by the time you return to New York. I will see you tomorrow. Bring lots of cash; I think I will be very hungry."

Napoleon laughed, "I'm sure you will be! See you later."

*ref. "Chicken Soup for the Russian"


	4. A Light in the Dark - Candle

"Napoleon, what is that smell?" Illya asked as soon as the pneumatic door to their office opened and he entered.

"That, Partner Mine, is the latest craze; scented candles. Sylvia gave it to me. It's lavender."

"It's disgusting and it cannot possible be a good idea to burn a candle in a windowless room. Please put it out before it starts to affect my sinuses."

Napoleon sighed and leaned forward in his chair. "Alright, but you are such a spoil…" Before he could finish his sentence, the lights went out. The glow of the candle showed the surprise on both their faces.

The CEA pulled his communicator immediately. "Open Channel D, Priority One. Mr. Waverly, are you all right, Sir?"

"Quite, Mr. Solo. It would appear the entire City has sustained a blackout. Our generators should be starting momentarily. Are you still in Headquarters?"

"Affirmative, Sir. Illya and I are in our office. What would you have us do?"

"Nothing at the moment. Section III is securing our perimeters as we speak and starting up the generators. Stay put for now." A _click _signaled him that his superior has ended the conversation.

"Well," he opined as he relaxed back into his chair, "there's nothing to do except wait. Funny thing; I don't have a flashlight in my desk. Do you?"

The Russian shrugged his shoulders. "I do not have a torch, either."

"Oh, so my candle is coming in handy now, isn't it?"

"If I did not know better, I would think you planned this entire thing to keep your candle lit."

Napoleon laughed at that. "You think I would blackout the entire City for a candle? I am nowhere near that Machiavellian. However, remind me to mention to Lisa that she should requisition enough flashlights for every office in HQ."

Illya snorted, "That will make Accounting squawk!"

"I think they won't, after all, they're in the dark, too."

Just then, the lights came on and the two men went to Mr. Waverly's office. When they arrived there, they could see from his window that there were no lights as far as they could see except for the light of the full moon.

"I've been getting reports the entire Eastern seaboard is without power," Mr. Waverly said. "My sources are indicating this not any sort of attack, but rather a failure of the grid. Mr. Solo, please inform every Section II in the building that I want them to remain here tonight."

"Yes, Sir. Come on, Illya."

As the two men headed back into the hallway Napoleon instructed, "You go find us a room; there are enough teams here that we're going to have to double up. I'm heading back to the office to apprise the teams of the Old Man's wishes."

Just before they split up Illya said, "Napoleon?"

"Yeah?"

"Bring the candle."


	5. Time to Eat - Formula

Napoleon had finished all of his paperwork or rather, he had finished all the paperwork he was going to do. He dumped a pile on Illya's desk and checked his watch. _Hmmm, almost two. I wonder if he's gone to lunch, yet._ He stood, put on his suit jacket and then headed out for the labs.

Illya was engrossed in what he was doing. His lab coat was stained and buttoned incorrectly, but all he was doing was checking different slides with his microscope and then writing notes. He didn't even hear the door open. He jumped when his partner's voice sounded from behind him.

"Hey!"

He reached for his gun, forgetting completely that it hung in its holster from the coat rack along with his suit jacket. "Napoleon," he huffed in exasperation, "you are not going to be happy until I have hurt you."

"It would be an accident."

"That is what I would tell people, yes." The Russian moved back toward his work table. "To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?"

"I came to see if you had eaten lunch and if not, I want you to have lunch with me."

Illya's head snapped up to look at the wall clock. "Well, that does explain why my stomach has been growling."

Napoleon stepped closer to look at the notebook on the tabletop. "What has you so immersed in work that you haven't stopped to eat?"

"THRUSH has managed to come up with an antidote for the truth serum I developed.* I have been working on a new formula that I will call Veritol Twenty. I believe I have gone as far as I can; now we can start clinical trials. I think they will prove successful." He began to unbutton his lab coat. "Let us go out to eat. You _are_ treating me, are you not?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

Illya slipped on his shoulder holster and then his jacket. "I was not planning on lending you forty dollars the other day so you could take Marian to the movies, either, but I did. Perhaps I should work on a formula that will make you more prudent with your money."

"Point taken, Partner. Let's to get lunch; my treat."

"Spacibo."

*Veritol 19; it was mentioned in several stories, including "Aftermath."


	6. Your Communicator or Mine - Communicator

Illya and April hadn't seen each other in weeks. They kept missing each other as he and Napoleon had affairs that took them to the mid – West, then south to Atlanta followed by a conference in UNCLE's Barcelona Headquarters while she and Mark had been in Argentina, Colombia and Belize. Neither would have admitted it under torture, but they missed each other's company.

April and Mark were walking down the hall toward the elevator bank after being debriefed by Napoleon when one of the elevators opened to reveal the Russian carrying two cups of coffee. "Illya, Darling! How are you?" April exclaimed with a smile on her face.

"There is a familiar face I have not seen in a while. I am fine, April, how are you?" He stepped off the elevator and looked at Mark. "And how are you, Mark?"

April was saying "Fine" at the same time Mark was extending his hand and replying "'Ello, Illya." He was still a little leery of Illya since their conversation in the cafeteria a couple of months earlier.* He had seen a side of the Russian that he hoped to never have pointed in his direction again.

Illya smiled shyly and said, "April, can I interest you in dinner tonight?"

"I would be more than interested, Darling. I'll meet you in Reception at seven; Mark and I have to write up our mission reports."

As the two moved past Illya into the elevator, he bowed his head slightly and replied, "Seven, it is."

Hours later, April and Illya finally came up for air in her bedroom. Dinner had gone off as planned, but they both knew what they wanted for dessert and wasted no time downing their appetizers and entrees. They were wrapped in each other's arms catching their breath when the familiar _chirp chirp chirp _of a communicator reached their ears.

"Oh, no," April moaned.

"What is wrong?"

"We got out of our clothes so fast, Darling, both of our communicators fell onto the floor and I don't know whose is whose. Do you?"

"No, that is a replacement. Again. Does it matter?"

"Of course it does, Darling! What if Mr. Waverly is calling _me_ and you answer? It's two in the morning!"

"So?"

"So? _So? _I don't want Mr. Waverly to know we're having sex!"

"Number one, he probably already knows and number two, we are consenting adults. Are you ashamed of what we are doing?"

"Not at all, Illya Darling; never."

The Russian smiled enigmatically, "Then choose a communicator and answer it."

Her hand hovered over first one and then, the other. Choosing the one on the left, she assembled it quickly and said, "Dancer."

A laugh came through the device. "Agent Dancer, may I ask why you are answering my partner's communicator at two fifteen in the morning?"

Illya reached over and plucked his communicator from April's hand. "Stop it, you blockhead, you are embarrassing her. What do you want?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Tovarisch, but the Old Man just told me that we have an affair in Alaska. We're booked on a ten AM flight to Seattle tomorrow morning. Come prepared to leave."

"Will do, Napoleon."

"Excellent. Good night to you and April."

Illya disassembled his communicator and placed in on the nightstand on his side of the bed. "I cannot stay. Let us make the most of the time we have left," he said as he pulled her close.

"Until next time, Darling," she said right before her mouth covered his.

*ref. "Personally Speaking"


End file.
